Siri Hustvedt - The Enchantment of Lily Dahl

Hank touched Lily’s hair. “Why are you doing this to me?” he said.

Lily arched her back and felt her bra tighten under her arms. Hank laid a hand on her knee, but Lily didn’t uncross her legs. “Stop it,” she said.

He leaned forward to kiss her. His lips parted. The handsome face looked too eager, too hungry.

“Not here,” she said.

“Come on, Lily.” She heard a whine in his voice and edged backward on the desk.

“Forget it.” Hank’s pale brown eyebrows moved together for an instant, then he exhaled loudly.

“You think that call could have something to do with Filthy Frank and Dirty Dick?”

Hank made a face. “What?”

“What Mrs. Klatschwetter saw?”

“I don’t know.” Hank spoke quickly in an annoyed voice. “It could’ve been anybody, or better yet, nobody. What do you care?”

Lily worded her answer carefully. “I went by there yesterday on my bike—”

Hank cut her off. “By the Bodler place? What the hell were you doing out there? Were you alone?”

“Of course I was alone.”

“Lily, you shouldn’t go out there by yourself. Those dirt-bags aren’t normal. You know that. They almost killed Pastor Ingebretzen, or have you forgotten?”

“That was years ago, Hank. People go out there all the time to look at the junk. Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because they’re lecherous old coots, that’s why.” Hank massaged his left hand with his right.

Lily covered her mouth to hide a smile. “Those funny old men? Come on.”

Hank didn’t smile. “Dolores pays a weekly visit out there. Did you know that?”

Lily shook her head. The woman came into the Ideal from time to time. She drank. Lily remembered overhearing Gary Hrbek telling three other guys that she charged five bucks a tumble.

“Probably does them both at once.”

Lily shifted her position and looked out the window into the dusk. “Who cares,” she said. “Everybody needs sex.”

“That’s right,” Hank said.

Lily turned to look at him. His face had fallen and his eyes were closed. She leaned forward and was about to embrace him when he opened his eyes and sneered, “You know who else she visits?”

“No.” Lily edged further back on the desk until her head rested on the glass.

“That guy in the Stuart, Shapiro, the one who taught at Courtland. Ida called the other day, screaming prostitution. She saw Dolores coming out of his room, stuffing bills into her bra. Ida ought to know we don’t bother with Dolores. It’s catch as catch can for her. But that guy?” Hank shook his head. “And I heard he had a great-looking wife, too, or used to anyway. It doesn’t add up.”

Lily stared at Hank. “And you believe Ida, windbag of the century?”

“And why not?”

“Because she’s a one-woman gossip factory, that’s why. She churns out hot air faster than anyone can breathe it.”

“And what’s your problem?” Hank squinted at her.

Lily continued to look at him. She pressed her lips together as she paused. “It’s over, Hank,” she said. That’s what people said didn’t they? It’s over. It’s raining. It’s snowing. The weather has changed.

“What?” His mouth opened. He lifted his hands.

“I’m sorry, Hank.”

“You’re sorry?” His chin bobbed in a series of shallow nods.

The phone rang.

“I’m going, Hank.”

He held up a hand, a signal for her to wait. His face looked red.

Lily pushed herself off the desk and stood up.

“Webster Police Department.”

She put her hand on the door and turned around. Hank’s hand was still in the air. He shook his fingers at her and mouthed the word “Wait.” “Yes, Mr. MacKensie, when did you notice it was missing?”

He paused. “Color?” Hank put his fingers to his forehead.

“No, Mr. MacKensie, not all yard deer are brown. We had a blue one stolen a few months ago. Right.”

Lily walked through the door and down the driveway under the streetlight. She expected Hank to come after her, to call from the door, but he didn’t. This surprised her a little, and as she took a step from the pavement onto the sidewalk, her ankle buckled and sent a pain through her calf. For a few steps, she hobbled, but then it was all right.

Rick’s was slow. Lily ordered a hamburger and a Coke at the bar and talked to Rolf, or rather Rolf talked to her. He was on the Jesse James Days Committee and gave her an earful of plans. “They want to change the name to ‘The Defeat of Jesse James Days.’”

“Why?” Lily looked at her fingers through the glass. She moved them to examine the distortion behind the dark liquid.

“They think it gives kids the wrong idea, turns Jesse James into a hero. I told them it was stupid. Doesn’t sound right: Defeat of Jesse James.” Rolf popped a cracker into his mouth. “I’m Frank in the reenactment this year. Plugged right here.” He pressed his index finger into his chest.

“Yeah,” Lily said. “I’ve seen the postcard. Don’t you think it’s a little tacky to sell those photos of the dead gang members, Rolf? And at the Historical Society?”

“Here’s Frank.” He pulled a bent postcard from his back pocket and slapped it down on the bar.

Lily looked at the grainy black-and-white photograph of the dead Frank James. For some reason he wore no shirt. She guessed they had stripped the corpse for the picture to expose the bullet holes in his chest. His eyes were open.

She shook her head. “Remember when we used to play in the caves, Rolf?”

Rolf leaned his elbows on the bar. “Old Jesse found one hell of a place to hide out. He must’ve known about those caves before the robbery. I’ll bet it was part of the gang’s plan.” Rolf gave himself a Missouri accent. “If it all goes to shit, Frank, I’ll meet ya in them caves outside of town.” Rolf smiled and looked Lily straight in the eye. “Remember the rope swing? That was a gas. Out and over the creek and back again. Daredevil Dahl, remember that?”

“Are you kidding?” Lily said. “It’s my claim to fame.” Lily bit into her hamburger and chewed. “I wonder if you could get in there now?”

“The Jesse James Caves?” Rolf shook his head. “After that boy died, they boarded them up.”

Lily nodded. “What was his name again?”

“Larry Lofti.”

“That’s right,” she said. “Larry Lofti.”

* * *

The following morning Lily spotted the wig in the Bodlers’ truck. She was watching the twins leave the cafe, and when Dick opened the door on the passenger side to climb up beside his brother, Lily noticed a dark shape on the seat. At first she thought it was a dead animal, but Dick slid his hand inside the hair, and she saw the tresses dangling down his arm. After he was seated, he laid the thing carefully on his lap and slammed the door shut.

“Probably ripped it right off the head of some cancer victim,” Bert said when Lily mentioned it to her. “They watch the obituaries, those two, and whenever someone croaks, they come sniffing around to horn in on the pickings the relatives don’t want.” Bert paused. “Do you think it was real hair?”

“I don’t know.” Lily hadn’t thought about it. The best wigs were real hair. She knew that, but on somebody’s head, all wigs were fake. Real or synthetic, it’s dead hair. Still, Lily thought, maybe all hair is dead, and maybe that’s why I didn’t like seeing it — unattached.

* * *

When Lily looked for the pornographic drawing of the Japanese lovers in Mabel’s room the following afternoon, it had disappeared. In its place was a black-and-white photograph of a handsome young man wearing the loose pants of the forties and a white shirt. He held a cigarette between two fingers.